20th December 2006 (Christmas story)

A Christmas Story…. (or maybe)

Just to get you in the mood for Christmas or not - here is a kind of Christmas Story that was wrote at my writing group ’24 Hour Arty People’ (http://www.freewebs.com/haulghwriters/) at the writing group’s Christmas Do.

I was quite drunk when I wrote this, which explains for the anger and also the bad language in it (which I have been kind enough to censor out for this re-telling)

**

Dangling like a clown, I kid you not made me feel like Santa with a multi coloured nose, expect for when the little c***s started laughing at me when I got on the train.

I wanted to tell them what I thought of them, but more importantly I wanted them to understand it wasn’t my fault I had to get on the train in that f**king costume, but when Gary buggered up the car which should have drove us there, I didn’t have much other option.

It had all started so well, until Gary had I kid you not poured lager into the exhaust of the car instead of water to stop the engine over-heating five minutes after setting off, and when he had told me I would have to get the train to me of course I told him what I thought of him.

He laughed at me, not taking me serious atall in the slightest and of course it was just my luck when I got there I ended up sat next to some fruit cake who was obessioned with talking about peverted sex so loudly that half of the train must have heard him. If I’m honest, I really felt sorry for the poor bugger who was sat oppistee him who didn’t pull his paper down once in the 15 minutes I was sat on the train, so I looked out of the window in frustration.

And then the next thing I knew I heard the conductor’s voice say ‘We are sorry this train is completely f***ed and of course we don’t give a c*** about how much hassle this causes but can you all get of the train and wait 45 minutes for the next out of date and rusty bucket of s***’. Well of course they didn’t say that, but either way I ahd to get off the train and walk down the streets of Bolton to get a bus.

I was p***ed off totally, there was no chance in hell I would get there for 2pm. I carried on walking down Newport Street - I was even tempted to get a taxi down there, even though it would have cost me I reckon something like 20 to 30 pounds, but I stopped when I walked past a pub. I blinked - I could not believe my eyes. It was a pub called ‘The Fool and the Bucket’.

I won’t need to say I gave up after that.

Photograph borrowed from (http://www.lacarte.org/health/chemtrails/orbs/)